Marvelous Spider-Man
by IPutOnMyHeadphonesWalking
Summary: A collection of Spider-Man One-Shots. Most of them are staged in the MCU universe. Taking requests! Rated T 'cause I don't know what I'll write in future chapters. My hands have a mind of their own. This has few chapters because I'm just starting out! This is NOT abandoned. Again, please give prompts!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okayyy so Mondler2017 is going to hate me buuuuuut, I'm starting a new fic. This is a one-shot collection of Spider-Man stuff and the occasional Tony Stark stuff. I will be taking requests. This will be ongoing and will never be discontinued...you may just have to wait a while for the next chap. **

**Getting real for a second, I suck at writing. This is me trying to get better at writing. I will take any and all criticisms because I think I have some good ideas, I just don't know how to write them. I have another chap. mostly written up, I just have to do a couple more paragraphs. I will try and get it out as soon as possible but my Dad is coming home tomorrow from Korea. **

**That aside, a lot of these will be angst but I am trying to write more fluff. **

**Please enjoy (and if you don't, atleast tell me what I did wrong.)**

**Disclaimer: I do **_**not **_**own Spider-Man, sadly.**

Today sucked. Rather, _tonight _sucked. Peter had been working his ass off all day (it being Saturday) blowing off both Ned and Aunt May to swing around in the suit Mr. Stark gave him. He thought, _thought _that he could patrol for a couple of hours before going home. _Ha, naive Peter Parker. _No, he had gotten up bright and early this morning in hopes for a movie night tonight with Aunt May to make up for his absence, but he couldn't seem to catch a break. It seemed that everyone thought today was the perfect day (and night) to be stupid-heads. He stopped two bank robberies (seriously? Those almost never pay off anyway!), four almost-car-crashes, and he doesn't know how many freaking muggings. Every time he stopped one idiot, he had to go stop another, his Spidey-Sense becoming a constant throb.

The over-worked teenager was currently helping a woman up from the ground where she had fallen via shock. Behind him, the offending mugger was shouting at him from his webbing prison, struggling to break free.

Peter was seriously losing his patience, so he turned around and shot a span of webbing unceremoniously at the man's mouth. The man looked shocked for a moment before turning angry, struggling harder at the strands of webbing.

Peter sighed before his enhanced ears suddenly picked up a yelp a couple of streets down.

Inwardly groaning, he turned and told the woman to call the police, before running off towards the yelp. He arrived at an alleyway (seriously all crime starts in alleyways, when could these people learn to be _a little _less cliche?) to find a man in a business suit pressed against a dumpster, cowering away from a man in a black hoodie.

_Seriously?! Another mugging?_

He walked forward raising his hand to shoot a web at the mugger's back, pulling him down. Normally he would be throwing quips and having a bit more fun, but he was exhausted. He hurt too, his exhaustion leading to him being to slow to dodge sloppy hits, resulting in a couple of painful bruises. Peter then proceeded to silently web the man to the ground, ignoring the vulgarities being yelled at him.

He robotically turned around to help the cowering man up from the ground, not even paying attention. The night had become so robotic that Peter hardly even noticed what was going on anymore, just going through the motions.

_Spidey-Sense. Run. Web. Optional Punch and Kick. Lots of webs. Help victim. _

_Repeat._

_Repeat all fucking night long. _

For the moment, his both enhanced hearing and Spidey-Sense were picking up nothing. Maybe, _just maybe, _he could have a quick moments rest.

After the man in the business suit was gone, he walked over to the wall by the dumpster, ready to climb to the roof and wait.

He was about to press his gloved hands to the wall when something glinting in the moonlight caught his eye.

The teenager turned to the ground by the dumpster to see a bundle of old DVD players, a toaster, and a beat-up watch.

Peter, for the first time that night, allowed a smile to spread under his mask.

Maybe this night wasn't so bad after all.

Tony Stark sat on his lavish couch, a light smile playing at his lips.

He was scrolling through News Feed and Twitter notifications, observing the photos of a certain spandex clad teenager.

Tony watched amusedly as he found a video of his protege, swinging through Queens with a bundle of electronics under his arm.

Once a dumpster-diving nerd, always a dumpster-diving nerd.


	2. Bagel?

**A/N: I had fun with this one. It's quite a bit longer than I usually write, but considerably shorter than a lot of the good stuff out there. So yeah, please enjoy!**

Peter clung to the window outside of his floor in the Avengers tower, not sure what to do. It was around two o'clock in the morning, so waking up Mr. Stark would not be a good idea (bothering Mr. Stark would be more accurate, considering that the man was most likely not asleep). He couldn't go inside without some protocol being set off and FRIDAY alerting Mr. Stark about his 'medical condition'.

Oh, forgot to tell you, Peter was currently bleeding out.

It had only been a scrape really. A stupid guy with his stupid gun had grazed him with a stupid bullet in his side, all because of his stupid web-shooters malfunctioning. Peter didn't know why they had been acting up all night (he did know why, it had a little something to do with him stopping a train, smashing his web-shooters in the process) but it was damn annoying. It had sadly forced him to go hand to hand with every stupid baddie he came across, which was fine, he could do hand-to-hand when he had to, but the problem was that it seemed every stupid jerk face seemed to be out causing trouble. He was bound to get a few hits without his stupid webs (thus, the dark bruises littered across his body), he just hadn't been expecting a bullet. Said bullet had grazed (read: torn into) his side causing a _little_ bit of blood. _And _the stupid blood wouldn't even begin to clot, his stupid healing factor refusing to work off of just a bagel and a couple of chips.

Because of his stubborn healing-factor and bagels with their stupid non-helpfulness, he would have to get some bandages or something to stop the blood. Normally when things like this happen (not often of course, _no no no, _Peter was _way _more careful than that! *cough* _yeah right_) he would simply shoot some webbing at the wound. But _no, _his _stupid _web-shooters wouldn't let him do that, meaning he would have to find a first-aid kit or nab some stupid supplies from the medical floor.

_But _to do that, he would need to go inside. Going inside would mean stupid FRIDAY alerting Mr. Stark, which would inevitably mean Mr. Stark telling him off for not telling him about the stupid web-shooters, and then he would get stupidly upset about the _stupid-_

"Peter?" _Damn, speaking of the devil._

Peter didn't know what to say, so there was a long pause of him looking through the blood smeared glass as his mentor stared right back, hands on hips, "How-"

"FRIDAY notified me of a certain arachnid bleeding out on my windows muttering 'stupid' over and over." Tony shifted his weight to his other hip and raised his eyebrows expectantly. At Peter's stunned silence he continued tiredly, "Peter, why didn't call me, or at least _not_ cling to my tower for almost 20 minutes."

"I didn't want to bother you?" Jeeze, his voice sounded small and pathetic, even to himself.

The older man just scoffed, "Wow, you really are stupid." The billionaire walked over and slid the window open, taking Peter with it, and gestured for the teen to get inside. Peter reluctantly unstuck is fingers and feet, crawled around the sheet of glass, and dropped ungracefully to the floor, sputtering all the way.

"_I'm _not stupid," Peter started indignantly, voice cracking against his will, "It's all those stupid people and their muggings and dysfunctional web-shooters and _bagels-_"

Tony just looked at the teenager amusedly, a light smile twitching on his lips, "Bagels."

"_Bagels._"

The older man gently steered the spandex-clad Peter towards the bathroom across the room, his find smile growing bigger by the second, "Oh yes, forgive me. Bagels are certainly evil, truly the halos of hell."

Tony opened the door to Peter's large and lavish bathroom ignoring the piles of clothes and the out of place pile of books next to the bathtub as he sat the superhero on top of the toilet seat and moved to find bandages. Tony concealed his tired grin as he rummaged under Peter's sink for the bandages, listening to Peter's fatigued ramblings the entire time.

"Yeah, bagels suck. So do trains. And guns. Gun people are assho-"

Tony started from the depths of Peter's unorganized cupboards, hitting his head as he turned to stare wide-eyed at the still rambling boy.

"_Peter!_" Tony all but screeched.

"_Mr. Stark!_" Peter replied with earnest, a small smile playing at his lips.

Tony, ignoring the tired (now looking at it, the kid's ramblings were most likely the result of blood loss, not exhaustion) teenager's antics, scrambled off the floor and to his pale protege's side. Through the blood, which was steadily staining the bright suit an ominous crimson, he found a small hole in the spandex where a steady trickle of red escaped to the outside of the material. He stuck his fingers into the gap so he could rip the million-dollar suit further open to reveal a ragged hole in Peter's blood smeared skin. Barely breathing he turned his kid slightly so he could see his back. After a moment of Tony frantically searching through the blood, he found what he was looking for, a small hole in the back of the suit. Relieved that the bullet had exited the body, Tony turned the boy to face forwards again as he fumbled for a towel, forget the damned bandages, to apply pressure while absorbing some of the blood at the same time.

After assuring that there was enough pressure on the wound he sent a weak glare at Peter, "Why didn't you tell me you were shot?"

Peter, somehow able to plaster a look of guilt on his face, attempted but failed to lock eyes with Tony as he couldn't seem to keep his head still. Only managing a groan, he slumped back, looking like he was about to pass out.

Tony cursed as he moved arms under the kid's knees and back, proceeding to lift him up and stumble to the elevator.

"Keep your eyes open you little jerk, can't go to sleep yet. FRIDAY, wake up Bruce and tell him to get his ass to the med bay before the spider-kid dies out on me."

$3$3

Peter was floating. Or his head was. At least, that's what it felt like. It felt as though his head was submerged in a pool of water, but not in a frightening way. It was peaceful. His ears weren't picking up every single sound and his head didn't throb from the soft light. Realizing his eyes were closed, Peter slowly cracked them open to observe the room around him. It wasn't his, that was for sure. The walls were too white, void of his geeky posters. In fact, everything was too white, the room even smelled white (if that was possible). The room was sterile, no smells filling his perceptive nose.

After a few moments of Peter's eyes flicking all around the white room, he decided he should move. Shifting his weight to sit up, he found that his torso was quite restricted. After fully straightening up, he lifted his shirt to peer down at the bandages surrounding his stomach. They were clean, only a small spot of blood on his left side, though there was no pain.

_Blood? Why is there-aw shit. _

The memories from the night before came rushing back to him. Malfunctioning web-shooters, trains, guns, Mr. Stark, and _bagels _filled his mind as he stood, wondering what happened after Mr. Stark had brought him into the bathroom, for he could not remember anything after that. Looking for answers, the teenager staggered over to the white door, opening it to find an equally white hallway. Eye's starting to become irritated from the surrounding cleanliness, he turned his head to the right of the hallway to find an elevator. He slowly walked over to it, walking becoming easier by the second, until he was right in front. He waited for the doors to automatically open as they usually do, but the moment never came.

"Jar-?" _Ding._

Peter stumbled back as the elevator doors opened to reveal a swagger-filled Tony stark, who smirked amusedly at the young protege before him.

"Mornin' sunshine," the older man greeted as he stared at Peter, "you coming in or am I going to have to leave without you?"

Peter stared like a deer in headlights as he stumbled in next to his mentor, not knowing what to say. Thankfully his mentor said something before he could stutter out something embarrassing.

"Common floor, Jar, the spider-kid needs some food," Tony said as he shot a glance at Peter. Why did Mr. Stark keep looking at him?

A few awkward moments went by before Peter said something, wanting to fill the silence, "So...last night, huh? That was fun."

Tony Stark turned to look at him, arms folded across his chest, "Yeah, of course. Especially if you consider finding a spandex-covered spider bleeding out on the side of your building fun. So fun."

Peter swallowed thickly, not liking where this conversation was going, "Mr. Stark, I'm sor-," Peter didn't get very far before being interrupted.

"Yeah Peter, you should be sorry. You nearly gave me a heart attack last night. You better be thankful that Bruce was here to patch you up because I didn't know what to do."

"I am-," Peter tried to start but was once again interrupted by a flustered Tony.

"But that's not enough _Peter! _You need to start being more careful. You need to come to me when your web-shooters break. You need to fucking _dodge _bullets."

At the last comment, Peter stood as tall as he could before speaking, "I can _dodge _bullets. I just... wasn't feeling a hundred percent last night."

The billionaire wasn't fazed, just snorting, "Gee, I wonder why that is! Bruce checked your blood sugar levels last night. They're dangerously low. Why haven't you been eating, Peter?"

Peter screwed up his face indignantly, spreading his hands out beside him, "I _am _eating. It- It's just hard. I have to eat so much with my metabolism and it's just hard to find the time."

Mr. Stark looked _very _unimpressed, but Peter was saved from any more lecturing when the elevator _finally _dinged. Tony strode out in front of Peter and into the common floor. Peter cautiously followed him, staring at the older man pulled out leftover pizza and thai boxes. He set them on the island before sitting down, shoving a slice of pepperoni (pepperony? No? 'Kay, sorry, ignore me. That's just like the only ship I actually love with a passion) pizza into his mouth. Through a mouthful, he instructed Peter to eat.

Peter, not wanting to be told off (that was weird), sat down and pulled a box of thai noodles toward him and began to eat hungrily. After many noodles and an entire pizza, Peter looked over to see a very amused Tony Stark looking at him and the empty boxes before him.

Peter felt his cheeks heat up as he realized how much food he had just eaten.

Tony suppressed a smile as he spoke, "Hungry much?"

Peter just sputtered not knowing what to say or do in his embarrassment.

At Peter's stuttering, Tony laughed, but not unkindly, "Don't sweat it, kid. It's just interesting to see a scrawny being such as yourself almost out-eat Cap. Besides, that's one problem out of the way."

Something about that sentence, especially the way it was said, worried Peter, "One?"

"Yeah, listen kid. You may have all of these powers 'n shit, but honestly, you're fighting sucks."

Peter started, turning his whole body sharply towards the man, "Hey! I-"

Tony laughed, "Kid! It's fine. I would honestly be surprised if you were a natural fighter. You just need a little help. In other words, some training. To help you not have any more nights like last night, because God knows my heart can't take it. I've asked Natasha to help teach you some fighting techniques-"

Tony was interrupted at the sound of choking. Peter looked up at him, his mouth agape, "Natasha? _The _Natasha Romanoff?"

Tony just stood, wiping his hands together, "_Yes, _and she's going to be beating your ass tomorrow in the training room, so be wearing your suit."

And with that, the older man walked out of the room, leaving Peter to stare shocked at the hallway in which his mentor walked down.

$3$3

Well, now Peter just felt stupid.

He stood in the center of the training room, fully clad in his spandex-suit. Peter fiddled with his suit, pulling the spandex away and releasing it, letting it snap loudly on his skin.

The suit, which he usually felt so comfortable in, now felt constricting. Peter was used to constantly moving to find the danger, not waiting for the danger to find him.

Suddenly the doors to the training room banged open to reveal Natasha in all of her frightening glory.

_And here's Danger now_, Peter thought as he moved out of his stiff position to ready himself.

Natasha was silent, the only sound being her boots clicking on the floor. After a brief moment of Peter awkwardly standing and waiting, Natasha finally reached Peter, but still said nothing. The teenager watched as she walked around him, observing his body.

Once she had worked her way in front of him again, she finally spoke, her voice sharp but neutral, "You're scrawny."

"Hey!" Peter cried indignantly, "I'm not _that _scrawny!"

Natasha just hummed before stepping back a couple of paces. She readied herself in a threatening stance, causing Peter to awkwardly do the same. He felt stupid, getting ready to fight _Natasha Romanoff…_In a (newly fixed) spandex suit.

Natasha stared him down and only said two words, "No webs."

And she, in all of her frightening glory, then rushed at him, ready to fight.

Peter stumbled back, left helpless by her final comment, and out of sheer desperation, jumped out over her and took a swipe at her legs, but my legs never connected to hers. Apparently predicting his spur of the moment reaction, the assassin had turned and grabbed his leg and pulled, sending Peter to the ground. The teenager scrambled up readying his fists but was unable to do so because of the armored fist to his jaw and booted kick to his bandage-less midsection that sent him sprawling on the ground.

Groaning, he lifted his head to look at the red-headed woman.

"Again."

$3$3

Peter stumbled out of the elevator on to the common floor, pulling his mask off as he did so. Not taking in any of his surroundings, he zeroed in on the couch and began to stagger over to it. He had originally asked Jarvis to bring him to this room due to the kitchen and his empty stomach, though his aching muscles and throbbing bruises cried for relief.

Finally reaching the couch, Peter flopped down onto the grey cushions, closing his eyes. He felt as though he could sleep for a thousand years, though his attempted bliss was interrupted by echoing footsteps. Hearing them stop, Peter cracked his eyes open to see an amused Tony Stark staring down at him, waving something in front of the tired teenager's face.

"Bagel?"

**A/N: Yeah, I know I switched POVs during the first part but I was too lazy to go back and fix it lol. So yeah, taking in prompts, pleaaaaaaasseeeeee review! **


	3. Dragons

**A/N: I am so sorry. You are going to hate me. Don't blame me. Blame my fingers and their need to write to the beat of Billie Eilish. **

Peter lay curled up on his disheveled couch, his breaths coming in short gasps. He couldn't think, he couldn't do anything but sit pathetically on his couch. How could he? He didn't deserve air. He didn't deserve this couch. He didn't deserve Aunt May, who, realizing what day it was had drawn him into a tight hug that morning. He didn't deserve to be _Spider-Man. _He didn't deserve to be called a hero. He didn't deserve the powers, there were so many other people who were more deserving of them. People who weren't monsters like him.

He had gotten his uncle killed. His uncle didn't deserve it. That kind man didn't deserve to be murdered by his nephew. The same fucking nephew he had taken in and treated like a son. The same _fucking nephew _that he had poured _all _of his love into. The same nephew who had lied to his wife in the wake of his death. Peter lied over, and over, and _over _again. 'I was just with my friends.' 'I tripped.' 'I'm just tired.' 'I'm not hungry.' Even his laughs were lies, lies saying he was okay.

It was _disgusting _how Peter could lie like it was second nature, not even having to think about it. They just rolled off of his tongue, fire for the horrible dragon Peter was. Gobbling up everyone and everything he loved. Burning the smiles off of his Aunt's face. Scorching the people he couldn't save. Incinerating muggers and rapists. He didn't mean to hurt them, it just happened. The dragon inside of him would uncurl and lash out.

But today, no. _Today, _there was no fire left inside of him. He couldn't speak, for speaking was a luxury. A luxury he used for lies. He couldn't eat, but then again, why should he? He didn't deserve food. To eat would be greedy. He couldn't move. Where would he go? Not school, that's for sure. Definitely not 'saving people'. He'd just mess up and hurt someone, as he always does.

And now, he couldn't even breathe. Breath was life. Peter didn't deserve life. It was that simple.

Then why did it feel so horrible?

Why was he stuck here hyperventilating and sobbing like a spoiled brat on his aunt's couch when everything he was crying about was his fault? Why did he get to cry? He should be cast out, left to die uselessly in a random alleyway in New York's winter because that's what he is. Useless and random. Just a number in billions. His cries were unimportant. There are people who cry over _real _things. They cry over having their entire families lost to war. They cry over being abandoned. They cry over being neglected. They cry over hunger. They cry over having _nothing. _

But here Peter was, crying. Those people were stronger than him. They didn't crumble as Peter does. They put themselves back together. But _no. _Peter lay curled up on the couch, crying over something that was _his _fault. He cried over being a murderer.

_Murderer. That's what I am. _

Peter mouthed the word through panted breaths, savoring it in his mouth, the way his lips moved around the word.

_Murderer._

He wondered what his parents thought of him now. Gazing down at their son curled up on a couch. Did they hate him? Were they disappointed about how he turned out? Sad that their son was a murderer? He often liked to think that they were proud of him for saving for people, but it was just lies. They weren't proud of _him. _They were proud of Spider-Man. Spider-Man saved, Peter killed. It was that simple.

But then it wasn't. Right? It wasn't like Peter hadn't tried to save his parents and Uncle Ben. When he was younger he had tried to build a time machine. He thought he could use it to save his parents. He spent many nights trying to make it work. He watched all of the Doctor Who episodes trying to figure out how the TARDIS worked. He tried _so hard _to figure out how he could save them. May had started to get worried. She kept asking why he wasn't sleeping. She asked what he was building. Peter had told her. 'I'm making a time machine.' He could still remember vividly the sad look that took over her face. She knew that he wasn't playing, she knew what he was trying to do.

Eventually, Peter stopped. The little contraption stayed in his closet, tucked away on a shelf. Peter moved on. May and Ben filled his void. For a while, he was okay, and the time machine stayed in his closet.

And then Ben died, and it came back out. Peter worked harder than ever. He _knew _it could work. It _had to. _

Peter spent many tears when it didn't.

He gathered his breath and sat up, stopping the tears for a moment. _Pathetic. _He stood and turned to look out the window in his living room. _Weak. _He walked towards the kitchen for a glass of water, feeling numb. _Worthless. _He gazed at a picture of him and his uncle, causing a fresh wave of tears to roll down his face and a tsunami of sobs to wrack his body.

_Murderer._

Fire cannot kill dragons.

But is sure as hell did hurt.

**A/N: Damn. I'm going to hell. **

**Anyway, please please **_**please **_**review. Honestly, please. Thanks for reading. More to come, but again pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase review. **


	4. My bush is bush Other bushes are jelly

**A/N: Yeah, so I rewrote this chapter because it was crap before. It still is crap, but a little less so.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Spider-Man**

Spider-Man punched another man, knocking him out cold. He might have felt bad once upon a time, but he just couldn't find himself to care at the moment. He turned to look at the lady he had just helped, but she was already gone.

Pfft, people these days. So ungrateful.

The spandex-clad teenager ran a couple of yards before shooting a string of web to pull himself into the air, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs. Once he was at an adequate height, he released the previous web and shot a new one.

Shoot. swing, release. Shoot. swing, release. Shoot. swing, release.

The repetition was calming. Took his mind off of things.

Spider-Man didn't even know where he was going. He was just...going. Swinging aimlessly through New York, listening for trouble.

Eventually, he gave up after finding no New Yorkers in distress. Releasing his web, he stumbled onto the top of a boring looking building. For a moment, he considered staying here, just falling asleep where he was, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Someone could find him.

Giving into the fact that there was probably going to be little to no more crim for a couple of hours, he began to make his way home.

If you could even call it that.

Arriving at a seemingly random park, he paused. The area seemed so seperate from the busy concrete jungle that was New York. It was peaceful, quiet.

It was his home.

Stumbling forward he began to look for his bush. After a couple moments of staggering around in a tired haze, he found it. It was quite large, and not too branchy, meaning more room for the hero.

It was a bush. But it was a good bush. The other bushes were probably jealous of his bush.

What?

Once inside, he flopped to the ground, exhausted. He pulled on a worn hoodie since it would probably get cold soon.

He didn't even bother to take off his suit. He never took it off anymore. He had other clothes but, those were Peter's clothes.

Peter wasn't allowed to come out. Peter wasn't strong enough. After all this happened, after May died, Peter broke. He just sat in this goddamn bush feeling sorry for himself. Moping. Wallowing. But when he put on the suit, he was different. He was strong.

So he learned to keep the suit on. He learned the Spider-Man was better. That Peter was worthless.

So he let Peter fade away.

The complex teenager with seemingly no name began to fall asleep, letting himself have bliss for a few moments.

Because Spider-Man could handle being homeless and alone.

Peter couldn't.

**A/N: Please review and tell me what you think. What you liked. What you absolutely hated. Just let me know. Please please please. Anyway thanks and bye.**


	5. What's the Point?

**A/N: Quick little thing I typed up. I can't say this enough but ****_please please pLeAsE review. I can never get enough of them, seriously. I almost cry at everyone I get. _****Just take a couple of seconds, please! Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

Peter stood at the edge of the roof, gazing at the city below. _The city that never sleeps. _It must have been somewhere around 3 o'clock in the morning and the cars (and horns and yelling and talking and _whispering_, curse his enhanced hearing) never ceased.

And with a city so large and populated and _busy, _there were bound to be some kinks. Kinks that got people killed. Kinks he tried to smoothe out.

_But it's never enough, _dark though wormed out of it's hiding place, _you couldn't even save Uncle Ben. _

Peter sighed trying to force those thoughts from his head. He didn't need this tonight.

_You couldn't save Gwen either. You practically killed her. _

That was true, Peter knew it. Spider-Man got people killed. He couldn't save everyone.

_Then what's the point? After all of the pain you've inflicted, you deserve pain back. _

No, Peter doesn't deserve pain. Does he? He helps people. Heck, he just saved a little girl from being kidnapped.

_One girl, nice. Think of all of the people you couldn't save. All of the families with a hole in their lives. How many husbands or wives without their significant other. How many kids waiting for the day their mommy comes home. How many parents grieving over the child they raised. _

_You can't save everyone. _

_So what's the point?_

Peter didn't know.

Peter was standing on the edge now, swaying from the wind.

What was the point?

And with that, he let himself fall forwards.

The world seemed to stop as his ears received no sound. The only thing he could hear was his heartbeat loudly throbbing.

He was getting closer and closer to the ground. _Can't wait to see Uncle Ben and Gwen again._

Suddenly, his Spidey Sense went off and his enhanced ears picked up a far-away scream. _Crap. With great power comes great responsibility and all that shit._

He shot a web and was pulled into an arc, ready to assist another New Yorker.

The dark thought retreated, but it was always there, eating away at Peter's life.

Because every time Peter fell, he wondered if it was worth it to pull himself back up.


End file.
